The Legend of Nanda Parbat
by Bloodsong 13T
Summary: Malcolm has avenged his wife's murder, yet he still leaves Starling City in search of aid from the "legend" in Nanda Parbat. Perhaps it isn't the legend we automatically assumed it was...
1. The Legend

**The Legend**

 _CONTENT:_  
Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Drama  
Language: some  
Violence: no  
Nudity: none  
Sex: none  
Other: none

 _Author's Notes:_

This PlotBunnyZilla ate my head for five hours one Sunday morning, when I was speculating on something Malcolm said in the flashbacks from Season 3. But apparently, he didn't say what I thought he said.

I thought he said something about the legend of Nanda Parbat, and getting help there. Because we know he ended up in the League of Assassins, we assumed that's the legend he meant. But. What if it wasn't?

Why would he need assassins when he'd already killed the man who murdered Rebecca (or so he thought)? That wouldn't bring her back. But what if he meant the _other_ legend of Nanda Parbat? And why is he so adamant that using the Lazarus Pit on Thea is world's worst idea?

... ? ? ? ! ! !

When I conceived this, and wrote the second half that one Sunday morning, it fit into canon rather neatly. When season 4 came out and they sorta retconned the whole bringing Thea back to life, by saying she was only _mostly_ dead, and nobody had been brought back with the Pit since days of legend... well...

Also, I read on the Arrow Wiki that Rebecca was a philanthropist, not a doctor. I had always thought she was a doctor, working at the clinic. Being a philanthropist makes more sense (there's no way a doctor that young would have time for her family!), but I cling to the idealization of Rebecca as a doctor, healing people.

Because this so closely matches the canon of the show, it does not match canon for my _Green & Black_ series, or "Shattered Stones." Oh, and somebody put Nanda Parbat in the Hindu Kush, which is _not_ in Tibet. I... always thought Nanda Parbat was in Tibet. Um. Oops. I fixed it for this work, but not for G &B.

* * *

 **The Legend**

 _"Daddy, where are you going?"_

 _"There is a legendary place called Nanda Parbat. I'm going there to find help."_

==#==

The road to Nanda Parbat was steep and long. The Himalayan air was thin. Although Malcolm kept a slow, steady pace, he panted as if running a marathon; his heart thumped. Along the way, he had picked up four silent, hooded escorts. He had calmly stated his mission, to seek audience with the head of their order, and they had not shot him with their drawn bows. It seemed ludicrous in this day and age to be accosted with bow and arrow, but the reality of them was clearly deadly and frightening.

They stopped at the great doors of the edifice, carved from living rock centuries ago. Two of his guards went inside. Malcolm was grateful for the chance to catch his breath.

Then the doors opened again, and he was ushered inside, through a short corridor that led to a great hall. He heard the sounds of fighting, the ring of steel, yet still he was surprised at the sight that greeted him. Instead of orderly rows of sparring trainees, he found a grown man fighting a _child_. She was perhaps ten or twelve, but she handled her sword like a veteran.

In a blink, her sword - an actual sword, not a wooden training stick - flashed, striking sparks from her opponent's weapon. The man was disarmed, and the girl lunged in, her blade stopping at his neck. They stood a moment in tableau, then the man stepped back, bowed in respect and defeat.

The girl turned towards Malcolm, barely winded from her exertion. "I am Nyssa al Ghul," she said in clear English, striding forward and leveling her blade at him. "Heir to the Demon. Tell me why I should not kill you now, where you stand."

"I'm not here to fight," he said, still reeling from the mad spectacle.

"What other reason is there for you to be here?"

Malcolm was thrown for a loop; he'd been prepared to argue his case to a grown man, not a child. Still, he was nothing if not good at thinking on his feet.

He dropped into a half-kneeling crouch before her, palming a shiny coin from a tea house in the valley. She lowered her blade, but still, he was careful to make no sudden or alarming moves as he reached out to her, his fingers barely brushing her hair, the shell of her ear. He flourished the coin, and her eyes lit with wonder and amazement.

"A magician!"

Malcolm smiled. "I've come to seek an audience."

==#==

Malcolm found himself kneeling before Ra's al Ghul. The man himself, aside from the Hollywood-esque robes and jewelry, did not appear remarkable. Yet he exuded a quiet power that charged the air in the room, that made Malcolm quail in primal fear. He mastered himself, determined not to show it. This would require all his business acumen and negotiation skills.

He opened with honesty and respect. "I apologize; I do not know your proper title."

"I am Ra's al Ghul, the Head of the Demon. I have no need for any other title."

Malcolm bowed his head in acknowledgement, noting the different pronunciation than he was used to hearing and using. "I have come bearing a gift." He waited for permission to present it.

"Rise." Ra's al Ghul gestured to the side of the room and moved to the low table there.

Malcolm followed, digging in his rucksack, hoping he wouldn't drop it in his nervousness and look like an utter fool. He set the simple wooden box on the table, turned it to face the Lord of Assassins, and opened the lid.

Ra's al Ghul looked upon the gold ingots within. His face showed nothing of his thoughts. Then he asked simply, "For decoration, or for monetary value?"

"Whatever suits your needs," Malcolm replied. He knew how expensive it was to run a large international organization, but wasn't sure it was politic to compare himself to the Head of the Demon.

A faint smile softened the Assassin Lord's foreboding mien. "A fine gift," he acknowledged. "Do sit."

The two men sat on the eastern style cushions at the table. Malcolm felt a faint spark of elation at managing to overcome the first hurdle.

It was short-lived, however, cut down by Ra's al Ghul's next words. "Now you will ask a boon of me in return." His faint smile was gone, his face colder than before.

"No," said Malcolm, eliciting at least a twitch of one eyebrow. "The gift is just that, given freely, no matter the outcome of our negotiation. Because it is true, I've come to ask you for something. But I mean to pay for it, whatever the cost."

"With what shall you pay?"

"I am a man of many means. I own an international business, worth billions of dollars. I have access to collections of artefacts. Or technology, if you like. Research and development." He took a breath. "There are a myriad of things I can offer to you, to your organization. If I don't have something you want, I have the means to get it."

The tilt of Ra's al Ghul's head showed his interest. "Go on."

Malcolm swallowed. "There is a legend, an obscure tale whispered in the dark, of waters in Nanda Parbat that can be used to restore the dead to life." If these were just crazy rumors, he had just risked his life for nothing.

After a moment of heavy silence, Ra's al Ghul said simply, "The Lazarus Pit."

Malcolm's heart leapt. "So it's true?" He'd pinned his hopes on this rumor, this legend, but he hadn't dared to feel actual hope.

The Assassin Lord nodded once. "And this person you wish... returned?"

"My wife, Rebecca," he blurted. And why would such a cold and powerful man care about one ordinary woman? "She was killed, murdered. By the people she was trying to help. She was a doctor; she healed people, and they killed her. We have a son, Tommy. He's only eight. They were so close." He felt his throat tightening, and he tried to choke down sudden tears. "I will give you anything, _everything_ I have, if you will restore her to us." He dared to look into the Demon's eyes, his own wet with tears. Anything that would move this man - pity, greed, altruism. Malcolm would beg if he thought that's what it would take. "She didn't deserve to die. Not while criminals like the man who killed her continue to live."

The Assassin Lord seemed to consider, while Malcolm held his breath, his hands squeezed into bloodless fists.

Then Ra's al Ghul asked, "Have you ever killed anyone?"

Malcolm dropped his eyes. "Yes."

"Tell me."

He licked his lips. "The man who shot Rebecca. The police didn't have enough evidence, but I found out who he was. I went to confront him." The dark, torch-lit hall faded as Malcolm's eyes focused in the past. He saw that ratty alleyway again. "I wanted to know why. Why he'd killed her."

"Just that? Just to know?"

Malcolm couldn't answer that. He hadn't known what would happen, did he? Though he'd brought the gun. "I didn't threaten him," he said aloud. "He didn't know me as anyone special. But he treated me like a victim, not like a fellow human being."

He shivered slightly, feeling the cool damp air of that night. The inhumanity. "He didn't care about me, he didn't care about my wife. All he cared about was hurting people. Taking from them." His fingers hesitantly touched his face, the scab still on his split lip. "He attacked me." Malcolm lowered his hand, bowed his head. "He beat me, then walked off in contempt. I shot him in the back." He closed his eyes.

"Do you bow your head in shame over the fact you killed a man, or only because of the cowardly way you killed him?"

Malcolm opened his eyes, and Nanda Parbat came back into focus. "I... don't know." He hadn't examined how he felt, not too closely. He'd gone into a panic. He'd killed a man, and no matter how he protested he'd only wanted to talk, how it had been self defense, once the prosecutors asked, 'Did you bring the gun with you?' it was all premeditated murder.

"Do you regret killing this man?"

"No." No, not after all the hurt that man had caused, killing Rebecca, tearing her from the hearts of her family, after beating him and humiliating him, no. Malcolm felt not one shred of regret for killing him.

Ra's al Ghul shifted, leaning close over the table, drawing Malcolm's gaze to look him in the eye. "The price for bringing back a life," he said gravely, "is another life."

Malcolm swallowed. That was it, then. He'd have to die to bring Rebecca back. He'd been willing to destroy his life, to hand over everything he owned, everything he was, to become a pauper, but this? To have Rebecca's life miraculously returned, and not be able to bask in her love?

Then his thoughts darkened. Did he deserve her love, after he'd failed her? Did he deserve to live? Tommy and Rebecca would have each other. They could forge on without him.

"I accept," Malcolm said, his voice raw, as if he'd been crying. "I will gladly die to bring my Rebecca back."

The Demon's eyes widened, and expression slipping past his guard. "You would give up your life so readily for this woman?"

"Yes." His voice was stronger now, with conviction.

"So very few have such loyalty. There are fewer who can command it."

"If you can bring my Rebecca back, I would do anything you require. Do we have a deal?" Malcolm asked. "I will need time... to set my affairs in order. To make the arrangements."

"We have a deal." Ra's al Ghul nodded. "But you misunderstand me. I said a life for a life, not a death for a life." At Malcolm's puzzled look, he explained. "A life sworn in service to the League of Assassins."

Malcolm's brows knitted. Not to die, but to live on, here? Isolated from the word, from his beloved? Somehow, that seemed worse. "But... I'm to become an assassin? I'm no killer. Not a fighter, like..." He looked around, indicating the ancient fortress.

"All you need is the will to train. I will forge you into the weapon." The Demon tilted his head. "Or you may give us your son, if you prefer."

 _Tommy?_ Raised here? Taught to be a killer? Kind, sweet, gentle Tommy? Malcolm's mind flashed to the girl with the sword, coldly threatening to kill him on the spot. "No," he said. "I'll do it."

== _X_ ==


	2. Training

**Training**

 _CONTENT:_

Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Drama  
Language: some  
Violence: some  
Nudity: none  
Sex: none  
Other: none

 _Author's Notes:_

This was the hardest part to write, the transition. You will also notice I made up traditions and stuff for the League. They're just that, made up.

* * *

 **Training**

==#==

Malcolm returned to Starling City with a coterie of assassins to assist him in the robbing of his wife's grave. He was not given leave to speak to anyone, nor to see his son. Fortunately, Tommy was away at his grandparent's house.

Rebecca's shrouded corpse was taken away to be prepared for the ceremony of resurrection. In the meantime, Malcolm would begin his training.

He was given a black gi and taken to a class full of novitiates. There were at least twenty, most of them teens, all in plain white gi. He was astonished that there would be so many people at this hidden fortress, a place, a sect barely known as a legend. Then he began to feel uncomfortably out of place as they stared at him, and kept shooting surreptitious glances at him while a veiled woman led them in drills. Was he in the wrong place? Was he wearing the wrong gear? He didn't know the traditions of the League, and he didn't like being in the dark, feeling lost and helpless.

He was distracted and did poorly. The iron lady who was their teacher reprimanded him several times. Finally, after hours of drills, he was instructed to kneel and wait while the other students filed out.

"I'm sorry," he said when the room was clear and she returned to stand over him.

"Why do you apologize?" she asked, her english bearing traces of a french accent.

"I don't know the ways of the League," he stammered. "Have I done something wrong? It's only my first day."

She shook her head. "What fool would expect you to know everything when you have just started?"

Malcolm ducked his head. Himself, he guessed. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"You should only apologize if you have done something wrong."

But he didn't know what he'd done! "I don't understand. I'm so-" He bit his tongue. "Please explain to me... why am I different? Why am I wearing this, and not white? Why do the others look at me so?"

Now she nodded with a hint of satisfaction, and beckoned him to stand. "Novitiates come to the League to train, to perhaps be initiated into our ranks. They wear white, until they have killed."

It's a stigma, was Malcolm's first thought. But he wasn't a killer... no, that wasn't true, he admitted with guilt. He'd told Ra's al Ghul about shooting Rebecca's murderer. He had killed, but he still did not feel like a killer. Like an assassin. Was he really going through with this?

"Is that all it takes?" he asked the teacher. "Once you have killed, you are a part of the League?"

"No. The novitiates must go through the Proving. If they succeed, they are initiated."

"What is the Proving?"

"The Proving is a fight to the death."

Malcolm's breath caught in his throat. "Fighting whom?"

"Whomsoever Ra's al Ghul deems a proper opponent. Sometimes the novitiates fight each other. Sometimes a criminal is brought in for execution. Sometimes..." She opened her hands in an expansive gesture. "Sometimes Ra's al Ghul tests the novitiate with a unique target."

"When? When is this Proving?"

"When you are ready."

Malcolm was not ready.

==#==

He studied hard, and advanced quickly in skill in his first two weeks. He had no word of Rebecca, so he sought another audience with the Head of the Demon. He knew the protocols now, he knew the vast history of the League, and its enigmatic leader.

He knelt, as was respectful, but did not hesitate to come to the point. Assassins were not apologetic about their trade, nor weak in upholding what they knew to be righteous. "When will the ceremony be held to resurrect my wife?"

"When I have determined that you are a worthy member of the League."

"You said I was worthy to train. That you would forge me into a weapon."

"Perhaps your conviction is not as strong as it appeared to be when we first spoke," Ra's said darkly.

Malcolm took a moment to control his temper. He had to treat this like a delicate business negotiation. "I pledged my life in service to the League. In return, you gave your word to restore Rebecca to life."

"Are you ready to undergo the Proving?"

"Master, you said yourself, I came here weak and wounded. I cannot become an accomplished fighter in so short a time."

"You are impatient."

"My son needs his mother." He looked up into the Demon's eyes. "Or at least one of his parents. If you cannot perform this miracle you promised me, then there is no reason for me to be here." It was a risk. In the bazaars the world over, it was said whoever could walk away from the bargaining table had the upper hand. Surely if he were as ancient as the tales told, Ra's al Ghul would know this. If the Demon dismissed him, would Malcolm have the strength to walk away?

Ra's slowly stroked his beard in thought while Malcolm struggled to keep any sign of desperation from his face, his eyes. After an interminable wait, the Demon said, "Very well. The ceremony will be held in three days."

Malcolm bowed his head in respect.

== _X_ ==


	3. The Resurrection

**The Resurrection**

 _CONTENT:_

Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Drama  
Language: some  
Violence: mentioned  
Nudity: none  
Sex: vaguely mentioned  
Other: none

 _Author's Notes:_

Herein begins the second half of "The Legend of Nanda Parbat," the five-hour writing streak brought on by PlotBunnyZilla. Enjoy!

I skipped the whole pomp and circumstance... I mean, everybody saw it on TV, right? (Well, or on the web like me.)

* * *

 **The Resurrection**

==#==

"Please come back to me," Malcolm whispered.

The platform hit bottom; the rope went slack in his hands. The chanting echoed through the stone chamber, but the only prayer Malcolm heard was his own. _Please forgive me. Come back, my love._

The water boiled, and some... thing clawed its way to the surface. The priestess and assassins moved back, but Malcolm remained frozen in place. The troglodyte climbed up to perch like an ape-frog on the edge of the well, wet matted hair dangling around its face. It homed in on Malcolm, and he could see its eyes were rolled up so far into its head, that the irises were mere crescents, like dark little demon grins. The creature's lips stretched in a toothy snarl. One part of his mind screamed at him to flee, while some other part tried to insist he was seeing Rebecca's face.

With a banshee roar, the creature sprang at him, throwing him to the floor so hard, he lost his breath. His face stung where her claws gouged his skin.

Then the assassins grabbed her off him. Three of them hauled her back even as she lunged for him, roaring. Ropes of spittle flew from her lips as she turned to her captors, snapping as if to bite them.

Then her back arched and she screamed as if stabbed. The priestess was behind her, there, what was that she held at the woman's neck?

The demon eyes finished their journey up into the skull, and the woman - Rebecca - slumped, limp in the assassins' grip.

"Take her to the recovery chamber," Ra's al Ghul ordered in a calm smooth tone.

Malcolm finished getting himself back on his feet as the assassins and priestess carried out that woman. He refused to believe that was his Rebecca. Ra's al Ghul glided to a stop and tipped his head to study the scratches on Malcolm's face. Malcolm barely registered them. "Wh-?" he started, angrily. "You-! That is _not_ my wife! What have you done?"

Al Ghul raised a hand. "The psychosis will pass, in time."

"Psychosis? You didn't tell me anything about any psychosis!"

"Would it have mattered if I had?" Al Ghul arched a cocksure eyebrow, and Malcolm had to admit to himself that no, it wouldn't have. "It happens, sometimes. It will pass."

"It had better," Malcolm growled low.

If the powerful Assassin Lord felt insulted at being threatened by a soft and weak businessman, he didn't show it.

==#==

Three days were more than Malcolm could stand. He went to Rebecca's chambers, and conned the woman attending her to give them a few minutes alone. "She is still weak," the woman warned him in her lilting Islamic accent.

Rebecca lay in the luxuriantly-appointed bed, her hands folded above the coverlet, her eyes closed, her skin pale, and her hair brushed out around her head upon the pillow.

Malcolm could only stare, gazing at her beauty, his heart yearning for her, his fingers longing to touch the warm silken strands of her hair.

Then she opened her eyes. For a moment, they were blank, like stones, and Malcolm felt the chill of fear. "Who are you?"

Her lack of recognition cut him to the bone. "It's me," he offered lamely. "Don't... don't you remember?"

She struggled to sit up, looking around in confusion at her chamber, at her gown, as if she'd never seen any of it before. "Where am I?"

"You're safe," he quickly reassured her, unsure exactly what to tell her. "It's all right. Do you... remember what happened to you?" he asked with trepidation.

A little crease appeared between her brows as she thought. A little crease he had often kissed away whenever she grew concerned or worried about anything. He had promised to always protect her and keep her safe. He swallowed.

She shook her head.

He reached out a hand to reassure her, and she shrank from his touch. "What do you want?" Suspicion shadowed her eyes.

"Rebecca, it's me. It's Malcolm. Can you remember?"

The crease deepened. "Malcolm?" she said, tasting the shape of his name on her tongue. Her eyes unfocused.

He held his breath as her expression cleared.

"Malcolm...?" Her voice was soft, far away. Ice feathered up his spine as she began repeating his name, with the same inflections he had heard a hundred times on the recording of her last words. "Malcolm...? Malcolm...! Malcolm..." And then, the barest whisper. "He never came."

His eyes stung. "That's right," he confessed. "I failed you. I'm so sorry." He lowered himself to his knees at her bedside. "Can you ever forgive me? Please, Rebecca." She didn't look at him. "I'm sorry. But... I've brought you back. You're here now, love. I did what I could." He clasped his hands in prayer, in supplication. Tears wet his face; he needed so badly for her to forgive him, to tell him it was all right, like a child in terror of the dark.

She only turned, looked down on him - through him, for her eyes were unfocused, unseeing. As if she were still dead. And her voice, too, was dead. "You will die alone and abandoned."

The words echoed in his mind as he fled the chamber. The curse of a wronged spirit. Damnation from the dead.

==#==

Malcolm didn't know what to do. Surely, this wasn't the end of it. If he could only explain, if he could only show her how sorry he was... When she was better. When she was herself, then she could understand. Then she could forgive him.

In the meantime, he continued his training exercises, letting the physical exertion drain his thoughts and guilt away.

He was utterly unprepared to meet Rebecca walking from the training hall, with other apprentices, all in their white gi, led by young Nyssa. Malcolm stopped dead, his jaw hanging slack. "Rebecca?" No one had informed him that she'd recovered enough to be out of bed. Let alone training - _training?_ There was a spot of blood on her cheek. He reached to brush it away, gently, to see if she was hurt.

"Don't touch me!" she snapped, slapping his hand away.

"Rebecca," he rasped. He turned to Nyssa. "What are you doing with her?"

"Ra's al Ghul ordered me to train her," the icy twelve-year-old informed him.

Malcolm closed his teeth on an angry retort. It wasn't her he needed to speak to. "Rebecca, come with me, please." He reached for his wife's hand. Suddenly, there was a knife in hers. Pain flashed as the blade sliced across his palm, and he cried out.

"Touch me again, and I will gut you like a pig!"

Malcolm gaped at her. Rebecca's voice had never, _never_ been tinged with so much raw hatred and anger. That was _not_ his kindhearted and gentle wife!

Her eyes went wild, and then the knife was plunging towards his heart. He stood stupefied; it could hardly hurt worse.

The blade was deflected just as the tip sliced his tunic. Nyssa turned her body to force it between Malcolm and Rebecca. The girl expertly twisted the weapon out of Rebecca's grip. "Enough. You may face him in the Provings."

Nyssa led Rebecca away. As she passed, Rebecca's eyes did not leave Malcolm. They burned with hatred.

==#==

"That is not my wife!" Malcolm shouted as he recklessly stormed in on the Assassin Lord's meal. "What have you done to her?"

Ra's al Ghul looked up from the pheasant he was dismembering. "I did as you have asked. I brought her back." Before Malcolm could retort, Al Ghul mildly admonished, "I do not allow raised voices in the dining hall."

Malcolm reined back his temper, suddenly aware of the shadow-garbed assassins in the room, guarding their master. "Why was I not informed she was up and about? Why are you training her to-to kill? She's not like that."

"Neither were you, when you first arrived."

Malcolm bit his tongue.

Ra's al Ghul set down the pheasant and washed his mouth with wine. "It seems she is better suited to fighting than you are. She can not sit idle within these walls, therefore, she trains."

"That was not the deal."

"Perhaps you'd like to alter the deal?"

Malcolm frowned at the man, wondering what he was getting at. The Assassin Lord sat relaxed at his meal, his shoulders squared, his face open... and yet something canny in his old, old eyes, something Malcolm didn't trust.

"In exchange for resurrecting your beloved, I asked for a life. A life spent in service to the League of Assassins." Al Ghul spread his hands. "If she does not suit you... leave her here, to train with us. You go back to your life. To your child."

Rage burned inside Malcolm. "You tricked me, you son of a-"

The sound of blades being drawn around the room stopped him. Ra's al Ghul waved the guards off with a careless gesture. But he stood, and his eyes were hard as steel as they bored into Malcolm. "You _begged_ me to return this woman to life. You did not care what it would cost, you would even die for her - that's how far you were willing to go." He paced forward, withering Malcolm with his glare. "Did you expect such an ungodly act to come without consequences?"

"Y-you told me she would get better," Malcolm said, his head turned away from the killer before him. He quailed before the power of this man, but he forged on. "You said it was only temporary."

"Each person brought back by the Lazarus Pit is different. Perhaps she will return to her true self in time, or perhaps she will not."

 _Not if you keep teaching her to kill,_ Malcolm thought hotly. But he schooled his features. "I humbly request she be trained in your healing arts." Rebecca was a doctor, not a murderer.

"She will be trained as suits her nature."

 _Damn you!_ "I humbly request to train with her."

"Very well."

==#==

Malcolm didn't know what he hoped to gain with this arrangement, but at least he got to spend more time with Rebecca, to monitor her progress. Perhaps he felt he could temper her destructiveness if he was her sparring partner. Some trace of her love for him might keep her from hurting him too badly.

And if not, at least he deserved the pain he suffered at her hands.

One morning he met her in the corridor heading to the training hall. "Malcolm!" Her smile brightened her whole demeanor.

His heart soared out of his grasp before he could stop it. "Rebecca," he said, hardly daring to believe the woman he loved had returned to him. He didn't know what to say. "H-How are you feeling?"

"Good," she said with another smile. "Stronger."

"Have you... thought about going back to your old life?"

She pursed her lips. "I don't know. It doesn't seem... important."

"What about Tommy?"

"Who?"

Malcolm's heart fell to the stone and shattered like glass.

Her continued bloodlust sickened him. Especially when he could see glimpses of her true spirit, her former self. Yet she had forgotten who she was - everything about her former life. All she knew now was what the assassins were teaching her.

"Sometimes I have dreams," she confessed to him one morning. "That I'm someone else, living another life. Somewhere far away. Somewhere... normal."

Malcolm swallowed. "Are you... happy? In these dreams?"

She hadn't answered.

==#==

Their past was tantalizingly out of reach, locked away outside the walls of Nanda Parbat. Malcolm decided he shouldn't rely on her memories, so he began courting her again. That ended disastrously one night when she came on to him, aggressively. When he tried to escape, it escalated into violence. Then she tried to kill him.

For three days afterward, every time she saw him, she would fly into a rage and viciously attack him.

The trainers had to separate them. Malcolm knew his attempts to save the woman he loved were futile. But he didn't know what else to do.

On the evening of the fourth day, it suddenly became clear to him.

Rebecca greeted him in the corridor again, oblivious to her prior rage. She was smiling, almost giddy with happiness. Just like her 'before time' self, which Malcolm found harder and harder to picture. When he saw her that way again, his heart cowered in a corner, knowing this was going to hurt like hell.

"Tomorrow," she crowed. "They told me, tomorrow will be my Proving!" She beamed. "Will you come and watch?"

The Proving, in which the pledged assassin proved capable of killing another human being.

Malcolm's heart shuddered, but he put on a wide smile just for her. "Of course I will." He swallowed. "Tonight... will you join me tonight? After dinner, for a walk in the moonlight?"

Her eyes shone with what used to be love. "Yes. I would like that."

== _X_ ==


	4. The Proving

**The Proving**

 _CONTENT:_

Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Drama  
Language: some  
Violence: yes  
Nudity: none  
Sex: just some kissing  
Other: none

 _Author's Notes:_

 _There's nothing to say, here._

* * *

 **The Proving**

==#==

The moon was a bare sliver shy of full. It hung low and heavy over the parapets of Nanda Parbat. Malcolm and Rebecca walked atop the high wall, hand in hand. The Himalayan mountain air moved in a cool breeze. Malcolm shivered; to him, it felt ice cold. The moon shone glossy highlights in Rebecca's hair. The stars glittered like a thousand diamonds.

They climbed to the highest watch-tower, open to the night on all sides. "This is perfect." Rebecca tugged him to the edge. "Oh, Malcolm; it's so beautiful."

Words choked him, so he only gazed on her beauty in silence. She leaned against him, and he put an arm gently over her shoulders.

"Sometimes in my dreams," she whispered to the night wind, "I'm with you. Just like this."

"Mine too," he confessed.

She turned to face him, her hands warm as she cupped his cheeks. He bent his head to bring his lips to her waiting mouth. They kissed, softly, deeply. Her hands fanned over his neck, carded his hair; his arms slipped around her, held her close. So warm in the chill night air. _My Rebecca. My sweet, sweet Rebecca._ Malcolm let his spirit drown in the loving embrace of his wife.

A short eternity later, they eased back.

"Thank you," he whispered, his breath brushing her lips.

That little crease between her brows appeared, now in curiosity. "For what?"

"For reminding me what it was like."

He loosed his arms from around her and shoved her, _hard;_ as hard as he could, as if trying to throw her the length of a whole room. He shoved her so hard, he nearly toppled after her, and he could see her as she fell backwards.

She seemed frozen in time, her hair and clothes billowing around her as if she were an art nouveau drawing. And her eyes, crystal clear, looking back up at him. In an instant, they were filled with hurt, betrayal, _fear._

He tore himself away; he clamped his hands over his ears; he crouched by the low retaining wall, blinded by tears, deafened by his own scream. He screamed so he couldn't hear her scream, as she plummeted down past the wall, the mountain's face, falling, faster and faster, to finally crash into the jagged crags that would tear her body apart, crush bones, rend limbs, pulverize organs and flesh, leaving nothing recognizable, nothing the Lazarus Pit could bring back.

When he ran out of air, silence rang loud in the night. Malcolm found himself on his knees, hunched over. His hands dropped to his lap. His throat was raw; his eyes were dry. Nothing was left.

He died inside.

==#==

The next morning, he found himself again on his knees, in the Assassin Lord's audience chamber.

"You killed your beloved," Ra's al Ghul stated, his words filling the chamber with inescapable truth.

"Yes." Malcolm saw no reason to deny it. He was still numb.

"I must confess, I didn't think you had it in you." Ra's al Ghul stood from his throne and paced a circle around Malcolm. Malcolm didn't look up, but his gut knotted. "When you came here, you were a soft man, weak, wounded... Instead of standing up for yourself, you wormed your way in here with illusion, mere trickery." Al Ghul finished his circuit. "Yet you had hidden strengths, so I allowed you to stay. I granted your request.

"This also weakened you and your resolve in your pledge of service. Did it not?"

Again, Malcolm remained silent.

"Yet here you are, having killed twice. Having proven yourself within these walls. Transformed into a man of strength. Of conviction. Al Saher." The Assassin Lord contemplated him. "You are stronger than I imagined. You will join the ranks of our elite, and you will train under Al Owal." He turned and began to sweep out when Malcolm found his voice.

"But... my son." Without Rebecca, without him, Tommy had no one.

Ra's al Ghul turned back to him. "Every man and woman in the League has given up their former selves, their former lives, to be reforged anew. Al Saher has no son."

"But... but I can't just-"

Al Owal moved up beside Ra's al Ghul. "You will have twelve hours to set your affairs in order. At the thirteenth hour, you will be here at your induction."

"Before you plan your disappearance, Magician, " Al Ghul purred demurely, "know that if I need to hunt you down, I will make sure that your old life truly is destroyed. Everyone, and everything you love - your family, your friends, your fortune, your business... There will be nothing for you to return to."

Malcolm wet his lips. "I will not fail you, Master."

"Good."

== _X_ ==


	5. Return

**Return**

 _CONTENT:_

Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Drama  
Language: no  
Violence: no  
Nudity: none  
Sex: none  
Other: none

 _Author's Notes:_

The end, of Malcolm Merlyn.

* * *

 **Return**

==#==

Malcolm tore into his work back in Starling City. The travel time between there and Nanda Parbat didn't leave him with a lot of practical time to put his numerous affairs in order.

His first impulse was to see Tommy; he missed his boy so much. He hadn't been here to help Tommy cope with the loss of his mother. Well, he had expected that would no longer be necessary, hadn't he?

Seeing Tommy first would cause too many delays, questions... and, damn it all, it would be too tempting for Malcolm to try to hide, try to stretch the mere hours with his son into days... into a lifetime.

With world's deadliest assassin army after him, that lifetime would be brutally short. Malcolm had no doubt Ra's al Ghul would carry out his threat.

Tommy already had a trust fund, for his college years, but another would guarantee him a childhood the likes of which Malcolm could have provided, if he could be there.

Now, Merlyn Global. Malcolm's mind raced. He'd put Carl in charge while he was on 'sabbatical.' That would handle the first year. Eventually, when he didn't return, he would be declared dead, and... well, the board would just have to find a new CEO.

Could that be delayed? And for how long? What if he had someone impersonate him, send business emails and directives to the board? Malcolm would be completely cut off in the Hindu Kush. Who could he trust to make the kind of executive decisions that would be needed?

A quick call had him in an emergency meeting with Robert in under an hour. Malcolm outlined his plan to his very worried-looking friend.

"Malcolm, this is..." Robert stopped short of using the word 'crazy.'

"It's just a contingency plan, Robert," he lied. "It probably won't ever happen."

Robert, canny about his best friend's moods, wasn't buying it. "Malcolm... you're not thinking of... doing something drastic, are you?"

Suicide. _He thinks I'm planning to kill myself._ Malcolm chuckled. "No, nothing like that. But I will be off the grid, and... you know me and contingency plans."

Robert still looked unconvinced. "Are you sure? What about Tommy?"

Malcolm made a mental note to leave a sealed letter with his attorney, openable upon his death, to ask Robert to adopt Tommy as his own son. No one would make a better foster father. Aloud, he said, "Look, I just need to get my head on straight, after... after what's happened. Tommy does, too. The two of us, rattling around in that house alone... Some time with his grandparents will do him a world of good."

Finally, Robert was convinced, but only after Malcolm agreed to have some type of dire emergency contact. Malcolm promised to send him a sat-phone number.

==#==

It was after nine when he got home. Home... it seemed so foreign, now. He was surprised he still had the key to the front door.

Tommy was already in bed. Malcolm only had scant minutes before he had to leave. He crept into his son's room. It would be cruel to wake him just to say goodbye again.

Tears pricked Malcolm's eyes. He'd never see Tommy's first sports team, his first puppy love, his high school graduation. How could he live like that?

He eased down on the bed, careful not to jostle Tommy. He lightly brushed his child's hair back. _I promise_ , he swore silently, _I will find a way to come back to you._ He bent and placed a soft kiss on Tommy's forehead. _I love you. Never forget that, son._

==#==

Al Owal accompanied Malcolm back from the airfield. Neither man spoke, but Malcolm's mind never quieted. Assassins were sent out into the world on missions, to ply their deadly trade. They would have access - scant, brief access - to communication equipment. The elite assassins had even greater freedom to move about.

Then that was what Malcolm needed to do. Become an assassin - the best of them. He held this conviction in his mind as he stripped off his jacket, tie, shirt.

He knelt as commanded before Ra's al Ghul in the audience chamber. A brazier of glowing coals unleashed a thick scent upon the air. "You have proven worthy to join the League of Assassins. Should you pass this final test of your induction, you shall become one of us."

"I am ready."

"You will swear your undying loyalty and obedience to me."

"I give my life to Ra's al Ghul, to be his devoted servant, to obey his command without question, without hesitation."

"You will forswear all former allegiances, friendships, family ties."

"I forswear and forsake all allegiances save that I owe to Ra's al Ghul."

The Assassin Lord rolled his lips between his teeth a moment. He seemed to break from the ritual recitation a moment to look into Malcolm's eyes and ask, "Including your son?"

"I have no son."

Ra's al Ghul nodded slightly. "On this day, on this hour, Malcolm Merlyn will die. All that he was, all that he has ever been shall be no more." He turned to the brazier, took hold of a pair of tongs and fished out a red glowing coal. "You swore to obey me," Ra's al Ghul reminded him.

Malcolm steeled himself. "Yes, Master."

"Take this."

He hesitated barely a moment, then extended his right hand. It still had the scabbed-over cut Rebecca had given him. He waited, expecting al Ghul to drop the coal into his hand, but no. No, the Demon had ordered him to _take_ it. He clamped his teeth together and snatched the coal from the tongs; he pressed it hard against the cut in his palm.

Pain instantly screamed up his arm, ravaged his fingers like a wild beast. He held himself still, silent.

"Embrace the pain," al Ghul intoned. "It will cleanse you of your past. And, like a phoenix, you will rise beyond the pain to be born anew."

 _Yes._ Malcolm let the agony burn away the memories of Rebecca's ghoul, let it scour his mind until he remembered her true life, her true death, painful though that was. He let the fire sear into him the promise he made to his son, to return.

But for now, his love for Tommy would only be a weakness, a flaw the Demon would sense within him and attack. So he put his love in a strong box, he buried it deep. The Magician summoned a glacier to cover it, to seal and protect it. He would feel no love until the glacier melted, when it was safe.

For now, nothing but cold. A cold, obedient automaton. A cold killer.

"Al Saher." The Demon's voice broke through to him. "Let go."

He opened his hand, and the embers of his life fell to the stone.

== _X_ ==


End file.
